


fleeting moments

by bangboozle



Category: DRAMAtical Murder
Genre: Gay, I don't know, I'm tired, M/M, Resolved Sexual Tension, Sexual Content, and a bottom bitch in this one, pretty plotless tbh, sort of kind of dubcon maybe?, there's sex but it's not that descriptive, thus the m rating and the lack of archive warnings, trip likes to give virus hickeys basically, virus is a control freak
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-21
Updated: 2014-10-21
Packaged: 2018-02-22 00:43:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2488130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bangboozle/pseuds/bangboozle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You have something on your mind, Trip.” It’s not a question.</p>
            </blockquote>





	fleeting moments

     The blue eyes that look back at you are icy, but everything else about Virus’s exterior is soft; the layered blond hair, the feel of his skin, the voice he uses when he scolds you, the way his tongue moves to lick away the froth from his upper lip. In your duo, you are the stem, thorny and thick, while Virus is the blossom, charismatic and charming.

     You’re seated in the Old Resident District’s local coffee shop, taking a break from hunting down more guys suitable for Morphine. Nothing much has happened today yet, which gives you all the more opportunities to admire Virus as you follow him. God, you could watch him all day, feel that delicate skin all night. That is, if he’d let you.

     In your hands sits a hot caramel frappuccino with whipped cream and chocolate shavings. You’re not one for coffee, but Virus is, which makes you happy to drink it, so long as it’s sweet enough. When you look back up at your blond counterpart, his piercing eyes are still watching you with interest.

     “There’s quite a lot of calories in those,” he chirps innocently, his smile showing amusement as his eyes flicker down to look at your drink. “One of them could count as a whole meal.”

     You pretend that Virus is right about that, even though you’re pretty sure he isn’t. Being bigger and stronger than him, your calorie intake must be higher than the average two-thousand,, right?

     “Oh,” you mutter back placidly, brow slightly furrowed. “Well.”

     Virus pushes his glasses up his nose with a small laugh. You’ve seen him without them before, and he’d looked just as gorgeous if not more than with them on. You’ve also seen him with his hair undone, and had used a lot of your will-power not to run your fingers through it.

     In fact, you use up will-power every day, and your supply is getting lower by the hour, by the minute, by the second.

     You both stay silent as you finish your coffee, and Virus his. When Virus laps the last of the froth from his lips, you know it’s time to leave. He rises, gives a polite word of thanks to the manager, bows, and leaves. You follow, giving the manager a bow and a grunt of acknowledgement before exiting, right behind Virus. Back to work, where he’s is the brains and you’re the brawn. In other words, Virus is the leader and you’re the tagalong.

     And you’re okay with that.

 

* * *

 

     The first time he let you touch him (save for the accidental shoulder-bumps that earn you a prompt scolding) was about four months ago, and you remember it clear as day. Without any sort of warning, Virus had approached you one day after work and had gotten dangerously close to your ear, hissing two words that you’ll likely remember forever in that oh-so-soft voice of his.

     “Bite me.”

     And you did as he’d said, with pleasure. Virus had had to wear his collars up for a week. He’d been peeved at you for giving him so many hickeys, but you’d told him that that’s what he’d asked for. Virus had closed his eyes and smiled then, mumbling something unintelligible to himself.

     For the last four months, you’ve always wondered why he’d asked you to bite him in the first place. Either you’re really the dolt Virus says you are, or he’s much harder to figure out that you’d thought. No matter what the reality is, you’ve been itching to find out lately. Perhaps being a dolt isn’t such a bad thing, in this situation.

     You approach Virus again that same day, once you return to the apartment. He’s just showered, blond hair messy and glasses nowhere to be found, dressed in a pair of comfortable-looking silk pajamas. You admire how he’s so intent on looking classy, even for sleep.

     Virus seems to know that you want to talk to him, because he drifts in an almost elegant way to his bedroom, sitting down on the edge of his bed and crossing his legs at the knee. He tilts his head and raises a blond eyebrow, as if he’s looking down at you.

     “You have something on your mind, Trip.” It’s not a question.

     Suddenly, all your limbs feel heavy. You lean a little bit on the doorway and cross your arms. Hopefully Virus takes that as a mere action and not a symbolic surrender to his intimidating stare. God, its power is so much more amplified without those glasses on.

     All hope of that falls when he gives just the slightest little sigh. His lips twitch upward slightly into a smile as he does. You take that as your cue to speak.

     “It’s been four months,” you say simply.

     He immediately knows what you’re trying to say.

     “So you’ve been counting the days?” he asks, rising to his feet and stepping toward you. You feel your muscles go tense.

     “Are you expecting me to ask you for more at this time? Is that what you’re here for?”

     You don’t know how to answer to that. Virus, as per the usual, has you trapped. If you answer yes, you’re proving to him that you’re nothing but his little pawn, waiting on his every command. But if you say no, you won’t get those small sounds, those light, feathery touches from him as you mark up his sensitive flesh. You won’t get the attention from him that you crave.

     And besides, you don’t mind being a pawn.

     So you nod, and Virus gives a small hum of understanding.

     “Then what are you doing standing there? Move.” His voice is venomous.

     You immediately do as he tells you, stumbling forward as he steps back and lets himself fall onto his bed. You pause to admire the pure beauty of him, how his unstyled hair is splayed out on the covers like a halo around his head, how he’s looking up at you with a somewhat dazed expression. He’s the angel on your right shoulder, but also the demon on your left.

     You don’t even notice you’re hard until Virus’s gaze falls to your crotch. When he speaks again, his voice is the smoothness of honey.

     “You’re allowed to touch, Trip.”

      As soon as he says that, you feel your palms touch the soft bedsheets, and it’s only then that you realize you have turned the tables, just this once. Well, it’s not so much as you trapping him as it is him allowing himself to be. Your desperation for him has blurred the lines between the usually black-and-white power difference between the two of you.

     You stare down at him hungrily, ready to dive down and bite him hard enough to bleed, but the moment before you do so, Virus lifts a hand and places it on your face, so lightly that you wouldn’t realize it was there if it wasn’t for how inhumanly cold his skin is.

     “Trip.”

     “Huh?”

     Virus looks up at you, with an innocence in his eyes that even an idiot like you can tell is fake.

     “Gentle, this time,” he coos.

     You’re puzzled for a moment. Why would he want you to be gentle with him? Why the sudden change of mind?

     And then it clicks.

     Virus is testing you again. Him asking you to go soft on him isn’t a request. It’s his way of reminding you that you’d do anything his way, if it meant his satisfaction. He’s expecting you to comply, to do as he says, because he thinks that’s all you’re capable of.

     This little incident means nothing to Virus. He’s simply toying with you like the perfect little soldier you are.

     You look down at him with your brows furrowed, and you guess Virus decides you’re going to do as he says, because he looks to the side, baring his neck to you. The bruises you’d inflicted on him had long since faded, with nothing in their wake. The smooth, perfect skin tastes like his cologne as you move down and press a small kiss against it. Virus sighs in response, and you know it’s not one of pleasure. He’s disappointed.

     Lucky for him, he won’t be.

     The next time your mouth touches the side of his neck, your teeth are bared, and Virus’s little squeak of surprise reminds you why you even bother in the first place. You can feel how his pulse quickens beneath your lips, how his breathing is ragged and shallow with every little nip you inflict on his skin.

     His skin. Delicate yet durable.

     After what seems like a heartbeat but in reality is about three minutes, Virus is grabbing the fabric of your shirt, hissing at you to take it off. Your eyes are too hazy with lust to see where the buttons start and end, so Virus has to do it for you, with a grumbled “fucking idiot” that you don’t even hear. You’re too busy trying to pull off those slippery silk pajamas, but even then, your fingers are shaking and your face is hot and Virus is impatient.

     By some miracle, Virus’s pajamas--which you’ve dubbed the most annoying of all his articles of clothing--finally come off, and he’s exposed for you. Completely exposed. The thought that Virus is yours for the taking--at least, for tonight--makes a low growl erupt in your throat.

     You’re not Trip anymore. You’re a hungry beast whose bloodlust has taken over any morals you’ve had left, if at all. You’re whispering things through gritted teeth, and Virus is responding in ways that you’d only imagined in your dreams. Soon, your own clothes are nothing but a memory and you’re naked too, moving hard and fast against Virus while hateful, depraved words reverberate against high ceilings.

     Before you have a chance to think about how genuinely the snake beneath you is writhing and moaning and drooling in pleasured agony, everything dissipates into a wave of complete elation and you’re fucking gone.

     You collapse beside Virus, your false persona fading as quickly as it had come into place. He tilts his head over to look at you, and in doing so you can properly appreciate how well you’ve achieved your main objective. You suppose you were looking for too long, though, because Virus’s pale eyes, though still clouded from the afterglow, are narrowed.

     “Get out,” he says, in that bored tone he uses on you when you’re just bothering him, but with a hint of something else. Shame, maybe.

      And, like the perfect little pawn you are, you pull your clothes on and go, leaving the snake alone to fester.

     Finally, you’ve gotten a bite of the forbidden fruit, and it’s delicious.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> this took me literally three months to write  
> wow, i'm getting lazy  
> argh


End file.
